Honey Quotes

Quotes tagged as "honey"
Showing 1-30 of 86

“Well," said Pooh, "what I like best," and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called.”
―
A. A. Milne,
Winnie-the-Pooh

“We think we can make honey without sharing in the fate of bees, but we are in truth nothing but poor bees, destined to accomplish our task and then die.”
―
Muriel Barbery,
The Elegance of the Hedgehog

“Here is something that Peach, one of the Casserole Queens, says about men and women and love. You know that scene in Romeo and Juliet, where Romeo is standing on the ground looking longingly at Juliet on the balcony above him? One of the most romantic moments in all of literary history? Peach says there's no way that Romeo was standing down there to profess his undying devotion. The truth, Peach says, is that Romeo was just trying to look up Juliet's skirt.”
―
Deb Caletti,
Honey, Baby, Sweetheart

“We lived for honey. We swallowed a spoonful in the morning to wake us up and one at night to put us to sleep. We took it with every meal to calm the mind, give us stamina, and prevent fatal disease. We swabbed ourselves in it to disinfect cuts or heal chapped lips. It went in our baths, our skin cream, our raspberry tea and biscuits. Nothing was safe from honey...honey was the ambrosia of the gods and the shampoo of the goddesses.”
―
Sue Monk Kidd,
The Secret Life of Bees

“The stories shatter. Or you wear them out or leave them behind. Over time the story of the memory loses its power. Over time you become someone else. Only when the honey turns to dust are you free.”
―
Rebecca Solnit,
A Field Guide to Getting Lost

“Bacon would not be a choice if the pig had any say in the matter. A lamb, given the gift of speech, would most probably say "no" if you asked if you could eat her leg. Fish would no doubt choose to stay in the water, if they could and I feel pretty sure turkeys must object once their Christmas fête (or should that be fate?) is made clear to them. Chickens are surely protesting from having their eggs systematically stolen and freedoms restricted, and both cows and their calves would be up in arms, if they had any, with the theft of their milk and violent separation. Given the chance, bees will attack and defend ferociously, even sacrificing themselves in the process, in order to protect their precious honey; a sure sign they do not part with it voluntarily.”
―
Mango Wodzak,
Destination Eden - Eden Fruitarianism Explained

“I am sad because I love you, because I love you so much, and because I am not a bee to buzz with you lightly. I am not a flower, not a tree, not a rain-hewn stone. I am not a storm or a cresting wave, not a thorn or a vine. I am not the sun stinging the water, not the moon on the snow. I am not a star in the dark. I am not the dew-wet wind, not the cloud-stained dawn. I am only a girl, a small, plain girl, a girl who must smear her lips in honey to be found sweet.”
―
Amal El-Mohtar,
The Honey Month

“Camille's eyes fluttered and then closed. The cake was warm and her fork went down again. "Oh," she said quietly.There was a time I cared: a meat, a vegetable, a starch, some cake. Life had an order, but now the point only seemed to be eating. Here was my daughter, eating, devouring, she was almost through with the cake."Did you make this with honey?" Camille asked. There was something in her voice I nearly recognized. It sounded like interest, kindness."I did.""Because sometimes-" She couldn't finish her sentence without stopping for another bite. "You use brown sugar?""It's another recipe.""I like the honey.""The problems they're having with bees these days," Sam began, but I held up my hand and it silenced him. There was too much pleasure in the moment to hear about the plight of the bees.My mother took a long, last sip of her drink and then went to the counter to get the cake, the knife, and three more plates. "First the two of you are having a drink on a Tuesday, now we're all eating cake before we finish our dinner." She cut four pieces and gave the first one to Camille, whose plate was empty."It's madness. Anarchy. It must make you wonder what's coming next," Sam said.My mother handed me my plate. I don't eat that much cake, but I never turn down a slice.The four of us ate, pretending it was a salad course. Camille was right to pick up on the honey. It was the undertone, the melody of the cake. It was not cloying or overly sweet but it lingered on the tongue after the bite had been swallowed. I didn't miss the frosting at all, though it would have been cream cheese. I could beat cream cheese longer than most people would have thought possible. I could beat it until it could pass for meringue.”
―
Jeanne Ray,
Eat Cake

“In the small village I'm from we had a very old custom. On a child's first day of school, the rabbi would give him a slate on which the first two letters of the Hebrew alphabet were written in honey. The rabbi asked the child to lick up the letters and go on to use the slate to learn to read and write. The child would always remember that learning was sweet like honey.”
―
Abe Opincar,
Fried Butter: A Food Memoir

“As he lifted the leather-bound cover, the musty smell of paper rose up. He turned the first mottled leaf and looked down at an elaborately drawn image. A brimming goblet was decorated with curling vines and bunches of grapes. But instead of wine or water, the cup was filled with words.John stared at the alien symbols. He could not read. Around the goblet a strange garden grew. Honeycombs dripped and flowers like crocuses sprouted among thick-trunked trees. Vines draped themselves about their branches which bristled with leaves and bent under heavy bunches of fruit. In the far background John spied a roof with a tall chimney. His mother settled beside him.'Palm trees...' she said. 'These are dates. Honey came from the hives and saffron came from these flowers. Grapes swelled on the vine...”
―
Lawrence Norfolk,
John Saturnall's Feast

“The other day an entomologist friend of mine told me that for a beehive to produce a kilo of honey it must gather pollen from five million flowers. Thinking of this extraordinary effort I have been wondering how many books Baudelaire had to read, how many lives he had to live, to write a single line of poetry.”
―
José Eduardo Agualusa,
Nação Crioula